LEILA
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The car came to a stop on a quiet, tree-lined lane that looked like it belonged in a postcard from another century.
The air here was different, clean and crisp, smelling of pine needles and damp earth.
The sounds of the city were long gone, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
It felt utterly deserted, miles away from the world, from the compound, from Damien.
Gerald killed the engine, the sudden silence immense after hours of driving.
He opened his door and got out.
“This way,” he said, his voice low, calm as ever, his cap pulled low, obscuring his eyes. He didn’t wait for us, just started walking further down the gravel path while leading down the path felt so peaceful and in a more deceptive way, gesturing for us to follo
